


The Man Clan

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Cormoran style canon language, Gen, Nick and Wardle ganging up on Strike, Strike lurves Robin, Three men in a pub, an outlet for marital disharmony, an unlikely but effective trio, clan man, finding unlikely allies, setting teh world to rights, talking about loads of crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: The idea for these came way back - when I was writing a series of 'daft conversations' between Strike and Robin.I pondered the kind of mindless conversations the guys might have if they were in a tight friendship and able to offload some of their 'grief'......I think I was also watching a programme about the role of pubs in society over time and how back at the turn of the century they were a male dominated space, but they served as a means of men being able to discuss topics without fear of reprisal or 'offending'. It also sort of tackles some of Strike's more 'neanderthal' views on women, which are canon (remember his view of female drivers ?!?)So, there will be a few chapters - they are all on the same basic premise - Nick and Wardle as 'old married men' are complaining, or agreeing on something that Strike feels 'doesn't apply to Mr Bachelor', but then usually realises that he does exactly the same thing in relation to Robin as they do with their spouses!Lots of grizzled, Grumpy Cat Strike, but lots of male bonding.Loads of the ideas have come from Lula and a recent one from RobinLS inspired me to relocate this and post it.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 73
Kudos: 56





	1. What colour exactly IS Robin's hair?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts), [RobinLeStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/gifts).



> This 'conversation' starts off about paint colours and ends up on Robin's hair!

Cormoran balanced the trio of pints as a triangle between his splayed fingers and settled back into the back end of the conversation between Nick and Wardle.

The three of them had got together several weeks ago when Strike had been asked to occupy Wardle so that his wife could arrange for a new, flatscreen TV to be fitted for him (an early anniversary present!)   
Strike had asked Nick along and the trio had enjoyed each others’ company so much that they’d started meeting up almost weekly.

They’d quickly verified that ‘what happens on lad’s night, stays on lad’s night’ and all three had found the freedom to let off steam about various issues cathartic.

Basically they were 3, grumpy, middle-aged men who had found solace in each other!  
They were the Clan Man!

“So what actual colour does she want?” Wardle was asking Nick as they raised eyebrows in thanks to Cormoran for the refills.  
Nick drained his dregs, “Well…..pale green as far as I can tell. But have you seen how many sodding shades there are on the Dulux colour chart……apple white, mint white, fern white….apparently all different colours, and none match the frigging tiles she wants!”

Wardle nodded, “They’re all basically white paint with a green crayon stirred around in them for a bit….then they charge you three times as much for calling it a wanky name!”

Strike gulped down a significant amount of his fourth pint, “Is this your bloody bathroom again?” he asked Nick, seeing his friend’s resigned nod. 

“What is it with women and decorating? I mean Ilsa’s an amazing wife, and I love her dearly, but I fail to understand how buying replacement towels suddenly means we need to redecorate the whole sodding room!” Nick grumbled.

Strike sat back in his chair and wiped the foam from his upper lip, “The thing is, us men basically see only 16 colours….we’re like Windows default setting!” he took a further sip of beer, “And if you add dark, light and sort of to those 16 basic colours you can pretty much cover all bases….and this is a fact that women don’t understand!”

Wardle was sipping his lager, his lips moving almost as though counting in his head. “I can actually get behind that theory….like you’ve just said, Nick, basically Ilsa wants a light green bathroom!”

“To match the light green tiles she’s seen!” Nick added with a flick of his hand.

Strike drawled into the conversation, “I mean, pumpkin, butternut, amber, peach….they’re all basically orange…..or things that belong in a greengrocers!”

“Half the colours they go on about have the most ridiculous names too….I mean April’s hair is currently Cyber Space Scarlet….it’s fuckin’ red!” Wardle stated, wide eyed.

Strike nodded sagely and Nick took up the mantle, “Don’t get me started on hair dye! Ilsa spends bloody ages down that aisle in Boots….there are about 70 different shades that are all basically blonde, and another 90 that are brown…then there’s one red, one orange and one whacked out mad shade!”

Wardle nodded and interjected, “That’s probably the one April’s buying next!” 

Strike pursed his lips and thought briefly about Robin’s glorious hair.   
It was a subject on which he often mused and spent many a pleasant moment of contemplation.  
“Now you see, hair dye colours are exactly what I mean…..basically blonde, brown, black and add the prefix dark or light and the odd ‘y’and you’ve got every fuckin’ shade under the sun!” he grumbled, sinking down a mammoth gulp of beer and stifling a belch by pressing together his lips. “Blondy-brown, Browny-black, orangey-blonde…..they’re all basically covered!”

Wardle nudged Nick’s elbow and gave him a rolling eyed grin before clearing his throat purposefully.  
“Ah, so by that basis Robin’s hair must be….what? Orange?” he stated, noting Nick’s almost comically pressed lips and nodding head.

Strike’s expression shifted sharply as he responded, “Well, clearly….no….Robin’s hair is not just orange!”

“Is it butternut?” Nick suggested, pronouncing the word with a somewhat prim and proper manner, earning a disgruntled glare from his large, Cornish friend.

“Surely it’s more amber; or maybe gold at a push,” Wardle stated, steadfastly ignoring Strikes almost apoplectic gesturing beside him and instead meeting Nick’s equally impish gaze.

“OBVIOUSLY Robin’s hair is neither orange NOR is it butternut, amber OR fucking gold!” Strike finally exploded.

“Alright then….so which of the 16 basic colours is it?” Wardle teased.

Strike opened and closed his mouth several times, and lifted his empty hand for emphasis, as if calming the waters, “Well, there are some situations when the basic colour palette is insufficient…..and in those instances we revert to more appropriate grammatical structures than mere adjectival phrases.”

Nick and Wardle urged him to continue with their smirking expressions and pointed gazes and in Eric’s case an over the top ‘OOoooo’ sound together with a mumbled, “Hark at Mr Oxford over there!”

“So, for example, we use simile and metaphor. One could compare Robin’s hair to the colour of the evening, summer sun glinting off the warm sand of a Cornish beach……or something along those lines,” he hastily shook away his almost misty eyed, dreamy expression, not before it had been firmly spotted by the giggling pair either side of him.

“Well that would be one, completely off the cuff and not previously considered option!” Nick sniggered, taking a large draught from his pint in order to place beer between himself and his large friend.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Strike…..you’ve got it baaaaad!” Wardle crooned waggling his almost empty glass as he ventured towards the bar for the next round, feeling that perhaps whiskys were in order.

Strike had stopped trying to argue with Nick and Wardle’s comments…..he’d done it when the topic of conversation had invariably lead to a similar leaking out of his tightly held in feelings after their first couple of ‘lad’s nights’…..but what was the point?  
He really did have it bad……and he was beginning to lose the will to fight.   
His equilibrium seemed determined to be completely out of balance….and as he ruefully rolled his eyes at the kind, but firmly amused hazel pair of Nick he decided that maybe, just maybe it was OK to start admitting it…..albeit under the influence of several beers.

“I fuckin’ have!” he murmured before draining his ale and widening his eyes at the sight of a large whisky appearing before him.  
Nick flicked him a raised brow smile.

“Nothing standing in your way, mate!” he stated, and stored away the slight flicker of consideration visible behind his friend’s soulful green eyes for sharing with his ever hopeful wife later on.

Beside him, Cormoran swirled his whisky around in his glass.   
In his own mind there was plenty standing in his way….at least that is what he kept telling himself.   
But maybe it was time to start thinking differently?  
Maybe!


	2. Towel Folders Anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio continue to bemoan the 'issues' concerned with cohabiting.  
> Strike is quick to mock, and then realises he is just as bad!  
> A loose link to Monica in Friends here........and personal fess up time too - I have towels for each of my 3 bathroom/loos, which MUST go in the correct one...and in my main bathroom they are stacked and folded 'correctly'.....there is a correct way!

“Here’s a question,” Eric Wardle placed a pint down on the table which was already occupied by Strike and Nick with drinks partially drunk of their own.  
He’d run a bit late and was playing catch up….these lad’s nights were proving to be something he looked forward to….they were a cathartic release!  
“Is there a correct way to fold and stack towels?”

Strike wrinkled his brow as he considered the question whilst Nick, seated across the table from him showed a significantly more animated expression.  
“Don’t get me bloody started!” the hazel eyes man quipped.  
Wardle leapt on the acknowledgement and ran a hand through his hair as he straddled the upholstered stool to join his….’friends’?

“April had a fucking go at me because apparently it is ugly to be able to see the edge bit of a towel on the shelf!” he shook his head and took a further slurp from his pint of lager.

Nick nodded sagely, “Ahhhh, the folded- side- facing dilemma!”

Strike twisted his neck, looking between them; the initial expression of bafflement still present on his face.

Wardle nodded, “Does Ilsa have a folding method then?”

Nick nodded and ran his tongue across his teeth, “Yup! Took me years to master it….and she’s got a specific stacking technique too….it’s a fucking nightmare!”

“April’s is something about folding in thirds…..but then having the apparently correct side facing the door!” Wardle continued, seemingly lost in his own problem solving scenario.  
This statement was not met by Nick with the level of disdain Strike deemed appropriate and he felt he had held his tongue long enough.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE THE PAIR OF YOU TALKING ABOUT?” he exploded. 

Nick was in the process of peeling the top layer of paper from a Guinness emblazoned drinks mat and only briefly ceased his actions; he was semi used to Cormoran’s expletive fuelled outbursts….he’d watched enough football with him over the years!

“Let me demonstrate,” Nick suggested, taking the thin sheet of paper and placing it on the table.  
Wardle, either bravely or stupidly, shifted Strike’s pint fractionally and watched as Nick deftly turned the paper, making neat, purposeful folds in the paper.

“In half – making sure the tag thing is on the inside – then half again to make a long, thin shape. Then….and this is the tricky bit…..visualise thirds. I like to picture a Kinder Bueno in my head…it helps!” Nick stated, as if what he was both saying and doing was perfectly normal.  
And Wardle appeared to be accepting the lesson as if being handed down the meaning of life.

“AGAIN…..WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE THE PAIR OF YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Strike continued.

Nick and Eric had the grace to look slightly sheepish.  
“Folding…..it matters!” Nick added, almost apologetically.

Strike shook his head, “NO! It fucking doesn’t matter….all you’re doing is pandering to Ilsa’s whims!” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Nick stated, “I love Ilsa….and she does a shit load of stuff to make my life easier. If she likes the towels folded a particular way why on earth wouldn’t I do that?”  
Wardle nodded along with Nick’s statement.

“Compromise! Give and take,” Wardle added. “You can’t tell me there isn’t something you do differently now…because Robin likes it that way?”

Nick nodded and pointed his index finger, “You don’t order extra onion and garlic in your curry now….that only started when you’d met Robin!”

Strike grimaced, “That’s because we often have to do surveillance….it’s not pleasant being cooped up in a car with someone who reeks of onions!”

“So!,” Nick jumped on his friend’s admission, “There you go….you don’t eat onions, we dick about folding towels; horses for courses!”  
Wardle had been unfolding and refolding the small, peeled section of beer mat and was nodding along with the dialogue.

“Fair enough…..although I still maintain that stacking towels a particular way is verging on insane!” Strike mumbled. “Plus,” and he flicked up his finger to intensify his point, “I don’t think I own enough towels to form a stack in more than one way! AND,” he stood up in order to get another round but indicated the refolded square of beer mat, “Kinder Buenos have 4 chunks…..no good for imagining thirds!”

He returned shortly after as Nick was holding up one full hand plus his thumb and a further finger from the other.  
“So….7! How is it possible to have 7 different sizes and shades of towels?” he stated.

Wardle looked sympathetically at the slender man, “You got a downstairs loo?” receiving a nod he continued, “And I bet the ones in there are different to the ones for the main one? Yeah?”

Nick puffed out his cheeks, “Yup! And whoa betide if anyone dares to use one from the main bathroom in there! Plus….she’s now got specific ones for the kitchen AND for cleaning down the bikes!”

Even Wardle frowned at this, “Can’t she just use the old ones from the house?” he asked, receiving a huffed nod from Strike, as if he had finally spoken something resembling sanity.

“Nah….we now have to donate old, but still decent towels to the Cats Protection place…..in honour of Ossie and Ricky!” he stated, “She bought ones with bikes on them for the bikes!”  
Both Eric and Cormoran cast him an almost shameful glance.

“You poor bastard!” Strike rebuked him.

“Don’t you dare! Robin bought a special one for your office loo!” Nick countered, making Strike wrinkle his lips and brow slightly.

“Hardly! She just refused to use the threadbare, cardboard thing I had in there and replaced it….and she claimed back the money on petty cash,” he explained, thinking about the marvellously soft, downy, pale greeny-yellow towel hanging in their shared, office loo.

Nick grinned smugly, “Yeah….so why is it Citrus Burst yellow coloured?” he asked.

Wardle ceased fiddling with the beer mat and looked up between the amused and slightly beguiling faces of Nick and Strike respectively.  
“Well…..I assume because it was relatively cheap and it appealed to Robin when she bought it,” he suggested.

“Nah…try again,” Nick smirked, waggling his eyebrows towards Wardle.

Strike took a swig of his beer and licked the foam from his upper lip, “Clearly you know the correct answer….so come on, enlighten us!”

Nick pushed his tongue into his cheek before clearing his throat and exclaiming, “Robin chose that particular colour to match the squirty soap you said you liked the smell of, and that she bought 12 bottles of when it was on offer, so that they match!”  
Wardle gave an imperceptible sigh and mumbled a breathy, “Niiice!” as he and Nick nodded and met each other’s soft gazes.

Strike meanwhile was slightly speechless….for once!

Blimey!

Presumably all of this had been relayed to Nick via Ilsa, who presumably had been told first hand by Robin.

“Shit!”

“Why shit? It’s nice! It’s what people do for people they you know……care about…” suggested Nick.

“…..and presumably care about enough to tell their girl pal all about it!” Wardle added, enjoying stirring up a little more shit for his grumpy, but dependable acquaintance.

“None of that is why I said shit!” Strike corrected the now sniggering pair.

“Why then? It can’t be because she luuuurves you! ‘Cos you have got it soooooo bad for her!” Eric added, earning a Jethro Gibbs style slap to the back of his glossy, chestnut hair from Strike in reply.

“She bought a towel…..and some hand soap….it’s not a fuckin’ declaration is it?! She buys bog roll, and tea bags, and biscuits too….it’s part of her job!”

“Yeah….and I bet those biccies are often the ones a certain hairy handed Gruffalo likes to nibble!” Wardle was really pushing it now, but despite himself Cormoran snorted and joined in the laughter.

“Alright! They often are…..but I buy the ones she likes for her….so it evens up!” he stated.

Nick calmed his laughter first, “Fair enough….but you still haven’t explained why you said shit!”

Strike made a noise somewhere between a growl and a guffaw, “I said shit because I’ve been calling you pair of bastards all kinds of names because you fold towels a certain way and I realise…….I always put that particular one back on the holder ……nicely!” and he almost hissed the final word; as if it was a guilty secret.

Eric sniggered openly, Nick sniffed, “And why would that be?”

“Because……Robin looked so happy with it when she put it in there….so I always put it back the way she had it that first time; sort of folded in fucking thirds....and a bit fluffed up…..Oh God! Robin's made me into a Towel Folder!” and he slumped, banging his head softly on the table.

“Mate…..you’ve got it sooooooo bad!” Wardle jested.

“You’re one of us, mate.....you're among friends.....we're all towel folders together,” Nick smiled, sipping his pint and stroking his friend’s unruly hair as if he were the world’s largest pug.


	3. All the hair on my body is exactly the same!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can tell how long ago I wrote these based on the reference to the 'tampon tax'!  
> Just a short one where our guyz discuss shampoo and the scent of their ladies.

“Ilsa reckons being a woman is like having an additional tax imposed upon you,” Nick stated, sipping what would be the start of his third pint alongside his drinking pals.

The trio had become quite a fixture in the pub which was equidistant (ish) between their homes….Wardle had even suggested bringing a set of dominoes for them….they were like a huddle of old, world-weary men around their little table.

“How come?” Strike asked, happy to change the subject from football given his team’s appalling performance and Nick and Eric’s joint support for Spurs!

“Well, period crap for a start….which was taxed until last week….plus make-up, perfume….”

Wardle interjected, “……a shitload of stuff for their frigging hair!”

Nick continued, “Yup, styling it, colouring it, washing it and removing it!”

Strike as usual took a moment to consider his response.  
“Other than the period stuff all of that other gubbins isn’t actually necessary,” he stated.

“I think the make up thing is pretty essential…..NOT I hasten to say because I think April…or Ilsa, or Robin for that matter needs to look a certain way. But I know Vanessa has said there’s an expectation if you’re a woman to look a certain way…..it’s not right, obviously, but I guess we’ve got a long way to go on that one,” Eric offered.

“Whereas us blokes can look like a pile of shit and get by!” Strike snorted, “Although….shaving!”

Wardle and Nick regarded his own slightly scruffy facial hair.  
“Errr, I think you kind of answer that one…..not essential!” Nick suggested.

“Not now, but in the army….have to be clean shaven….so one way in which women have it easier….although as I say that out loud I do hear the ridiculousness of it!”

Wardle took up the mantle, “The hair product thing….that’s insane. April has about 6 bottles of assorted shit in the shower,” and he shook his head.

“Ilsa too….and whoa betide me if I dare use the stuff….so we end up with 4 bottles of stuff crammed into a holder that’s only meant for 1!”

Strike chuckled, throatily, “Now you see, that’s the beauty of having hair like mine….all the hair on my body is identical….so one bottle’s all I need!”

Nick winced slightly at the thought of his hirsute friend who was literally covered in dark curls!  
“What….everywhere?” Wardle smirked.

“Yup!” Strike smirked and took a long draught on his pint. “Although you have to be a bit careful with that mint and tea tree one…..it tingles in some places!”

They sat in silence for a short while each ones thoughts occupied.  
Finally Nick made a small, contented sigh, initiating raised brows from the other two in the universal body language of ‘come on then, what?’

“I was just thinking about how weird it feels when I can’t smell Ilsa in the bathroom.”

Wardle wrinkled his nose, Strike went further, “What the fuck? You weirdo….far too much information!”

Nick shook his head, “No! Not toilet wise….I mean her shampoo and shower gel….it’s comforting.”

Wardle’s expression softened and he nodded, “Yeah, I get that now…..when I stay in hotels it is always weird not to get a feint whiff of April’s perfume.”

Strike was quiet, he was considering his own behaviour earlier that day.  
Robin had been out on surveillance all day, he’d spoken to her on the phone, but they hadn’t actually met in person.   
He’d managed to work without considering this until he’d gone to make himself tea at around 3 in the afternoon.  
He had noticed that there was a distinctly different aroma in the office….and he had realised that the place smelled of him – tobacco, a bit of coffee, slightly smoky bacon from a roll and his own naturally masculine sweat.   
As the kettle had boiled he had found himself going across to Robin’s desk chair. Sitting down and twirling absently in it he’d caught a feint waft of her subtly floral perfume. Shifting slightly he realised it was engrained into the upholstery of the chair.

It had made him ridiculously whimsical and he had spotted one of the spare scarves she had left on the coat stand near the door.  
He had poured water into his mug and swiped up one of the long lengths of fabric – this one was cream with swirls of teal and deep plum across it and he recognised she’d been wearing it the last time they’d gone to the Tottenham together.   
It felt wrong to wrap the item around his own neck, but he scrunched it into a crumpled ball and pressed his face directly into it, inhaling pure Robin.  
His tea had become even more teak coloured than usual as he’d become reluctant to leave the delectable scent.

“You alright Gooner? It’s your round,” Wardle’s voice interrupted his pleasant thought, but the slightly dreamy expression on his face was not lost on them.

“Aaaahhhh, have you gone and drifted off into Robin-Land again, Oggy?” Nick mocked, good naturedly.

“Fuck off…..unless you want me to bring you back a half!” he stated, hauling himself upright and heading to the bar, but smiling at the thought of how wonderful it would be to exist in Robin-Land.


	4. Doom Bar zero!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by a photo sent to me on Tumblr from RobinLeStrange - infact it was that picture that reminded me I'd written some of these little scenes way back.  
> The boys discuss beer....and exactly what Cormoran would be willing to do for Robin!  
> The product in question really does exist!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop is a colloquial term Brits use for soda and fizzy drinks - although I'm pretty sure it travels as a concept as I think I've heard it referred to as pop in "That 70s Show"

“I’m still having absolutely NOTHING to do with it!” Strike shouted, holding up his palm towards Wardle as he sipped from his bottled beer.  
The duo had decamped to the small beer garden at the back of the pub due to the unseasonally fine weather.  
It allowed Strike the luxury of smoking as they drank and set the world to rights.

“What have I missed?” Nick gave both men nods of greeting and set down his pint of lager as he removed his thin jacket and straddled the wooden bench seat, “What’s got your goat this week Oggy?”  
Strike pierced his old friend with his ‘death stare’ and simply pointed to Wardle’s bottle.

“Doom Bar…..in a bottle….,” he shrugged and wrinkled his mouth, “You drink that all the time.”

Strike’s face became thunderous, as did his voice, making a couple at a neighbouring table jump and glance over.  
“I FUCKING DO NOT!”

Wardle held the bottle slightly closer to Nick’s face.  
“Look a bit more closely, Nick,” and he nodded calmly as Nick’s mouth opened and he saw the error of his previous statement.

“Doom Bar Zero?” he queried, “As in zero……”

“ALCOHOL, and therefore purpose in life!” Strike retorted, shaking his head and mumbling.

Nick pressed his lips together and offered Wardle an apologetic gaze.  
“Have you had this to endure for long?” he asked.

Eric glanced at his watch, “About twenty minutes. But he’s improving; the steam has stopped coming out of his ears!”

Nick reached out his hand and accepted the partially consumed bottle, sniffing gingerly at the neck and quirking his eyebrows to request a sip, which Wardle confirmed wordlessly with a shrugging palm.  
“It’s alright,” Nick proffered and immediately realised the error of his ways as Strike erupted again beside him.

“NO!.....NO! it bloody isn’t alright!” he stated, stabbing his finger at the flaking table. “Beer contains alcohol, otherwise it is pop!”

Wardle loved winding Strike up…..it had become one of his most pleasing hobbies since they had started their weekly lad’s night ritual he therefore waggled the bottle, “S’not fizzy….so it can’t be pop!”

This didn’t deter Strike, if anything it made him more animated, “Even worse then…...it’s squash! Slightly beery tasting squash….which is what kiddies drink, and kiddies should not drink Doom Bar!”

Nick chose to ignore his grumbling and ‘dandered up’ friend and addressed Wardle.  
“How come you’re drinking it though? Whole point of these evenings is to drink booze and let off a bit of steam….although Oggy seems to be letting off enough of it for us all this evening!”

Both men ignored Strike as he continued to ramble on about, “Whole point of a lad’s night is drinking beer….can’t be a proper one if one of us can recall everything we all actually said!”

“Well, since you ask Nick, I’m only trying this one…..I’m moving back to lager next, I just saw it and thought I’d give it a go…..might come in useful on nights when I’m working a case and April wants me to go out with her.”

Nick nodded at his logic, “Good idea. Might work for me too, when I’ve got an early shift and we have to go to one of the never ending couply type things.”

Strike cast him an open mouthed ‘uber death stare’ which Nick had only previously seen angled towards people who dared to ask him which type of milk be wanted in his coffee (Strike’s theory being that if it doesn’t come from a cow’s tit it’s not real milk!)

“Don’t you dare perpetuate the trade in this mockery of brewing!” he murmured in a manner reminiscent of a regency gentleman calling out another for disparaging his reputation.....if he'd had a pair of gloves handy he'd probably have smacked one or both of the other men!

Nick composed his desire to giggle, “Fair enough…..although I have had the alcohol free Becks Blue a few times…..it’s fine. Feels like a night out but without a hangover!”

Wardle jumped in, “And I don’t know about you two, but my hangovers have become mammoth these days. Used to be able to shake one off with a couple of paracetamol and a cooked breakfast….now…..pffff” he exhaled and shook his head sombrely.

Nick gave him an understanding press to his shoulder, “I know. Takes me a full weekend now…..there was a time when we’d be out, hammered, then find a bog so we could throw up and continue the night out!”

Strike latched onto the topic and began to calm down sufficiently to listen as the pair discussed their preferred hangover cures.

After listening to them extol the virtues of water and a single paracetamol before retiring to bed followed by a sausage and brown sauce roll for breakfast (the Wardle method), and fresh orange juice mixed with a shot of beetroot juice combined with a packet of roast beef Monster Munch (the Nick Herbert patented hangover remedy - and as he was a doctor he claimed superiority) Strike cleared his throat gruffly.   
Both men turned their attention to him expectantly.

“You are of course BOTH wrong! The only cure for a hangover is a large bar of Dairy Milk and 3 cans of regular, full fat Coke,” he stated bluntly.  
He halted Wardle’s attempt to chip in and continued,  
“You need rehydration and sugar, and it needs to be quick - so, a bit like a cure for a diabetic hypo.”

Nick nodded mildly as he drained his pint.  
“Theoretically sound…..but all that fizzy Coke…..Jesus, it’ll make you fart like hell…...if you’re lucky!” he added.  
Strike noted their empty glasses and Wardle’s bottle and stood.

“Right, my round….and I refuse to buy you one of those hideous affectations, so….back to the usual?” he asked gruffly, but with an amused smirk.

Wardle set the empty Doom Bar zero bottle down on the table and inhaled deeply, “Yeah…..back to normal service…..we’ll keep this to only when emergency measures are called for!” and he indicated the empty bottle.

Strike returned a few moments later clasping a more regular trio of pint glasses.  
“I’m seriously struggling to think of when I’d be desperate enough to resort to drinking zero alcohol beer,” he added as he sat down, it was as if his thoughts had been considering the matter whilst he was away from the table.

Wardle gulped down a large mouthful of his regular tipple and sighed, “Well, what about if you needed to get up at stupid o’clock for surveillance? Needed to be fresh?”

“Do you mean a standard Friday or Saturday morning?” Strike quipped, “I just switch to whisky, or tea!”

Nick nodded with his logic, “Yeah…..I don’t honestly mind having a pint of Coke or even,” he had the good grace to wince as he continued speaking, “Maybe a tonic water with ice and lemon.”

Strike gave him a look which verged on Doom Bar zero-gate again, but Wardle intervened.

“A virgin G&T, yeah - not a bad choice, but too small!” Eric grimaced, “Although it serves to help you blend in if you’re being a non-drinker - can’t really pretend a pint of Coke is anything but Coke can you?”

“Why do you have to feel like blending in?” Nick queried, considering that when he and his fellow medical pals enjoyed nights out there was usually someone on call, or working an early shift who just drank something non-alcoholic with no negative reactions or even with anyone noting it as unusual.

Wardle tweaked his chin, “Maybe doctors are slightly more well rounded, but in the police force there’s still a lot of metaphorical cock waving that goes on….and drinking is sort of par for the course!”

Strike interjected, “So you can wave about a non-alcoholic beer…..which I still maintain is a disgrace…..but you can’t wave about a pint of Coke?”

Wardle shrugged, “I didn’t say it made sense!”

Nick however considered the initial comment of Strike, “Going back to the Doom Bar zero thing, what about if Robin bought you some?”

Wardle’s eyes lit up as the conversation found itself back to one of their (Nick and his anyways) favourite topics; namely winding up Strike about his ridiculously puppy eyed view of anything Robin related!

“Robin would NEVER buy me alcohol free beer!” Strike admonished, silently adding ‘and that’s what makes her perfect!’ in his inner monologue.

“OK,” Wardle took up the mantle, “What if she bought it, not realising it was alcohol free - just saw Doom Bar on offer and handed them over…..after work on Friday…..cosy and romantic with you lounging on that disgraceful sofa.......” he trailed off, waggling his eyebrows as Nick sniggered and jiggled his knees.

Strike rolled his eyes, “Oh bloody hell, are we back on this? Can we ever have one of these social events without the pair of you bringing her up?” he asked, neatly avoiding answering the question.

Both Wardle and Nick shook their heads and gave responses of “Nope!” in synch.

“Anyway...answer the question. If Robin bought it for you would you drink it….without mentioning it as an issue and making her feel bad?” Nick continued.

Strike’s eyes glazed dreamily as he recalled the previous week’s curry meet up, which had become a monthly occurrence.   
Robin had ordered vegan spring rolls as part of the order and he’d lied and told her they were just as nice as the usual ones….because she’d looked at him so hopefully….and her mouth biting down around one had given him a serious issue in his trousers!

“I take it from that heart eyes expression that you would not only drink ‘em, but you’d peel off the evidence that they were 0% alcohol from the label too!” Wardle’s eyes were definitely shining and mischievous now.

With a petulant pout, knowing that it was pointless to argue, Strike exhaled loudly, “YES! Alright! If Robin bought it for me….BY ACCIDENT…...I would drink it,” and he rolled his eyes as Nick and Wardle exchanged a ridiculous hi five, “But I maintain that she wouldn’t, because she’s mega observant; so if she did I’d have to sack her!”

“Again!” Nick quipped, earning a second flash of the Strike ‘uber death stare’ before glancing across at Eric with his tongue poked into his cheek.

“Right! I’ve answered you and I am now officially changing the subject from alcohol free Doom Bar AND Robin,” Cormoran stated, picking up his own pint and taking a large draught before thumping it down on the wooden table as a visible ‘full stop’ as he lit and inhaled on a cigarette, “So come on then Nick, what'you getting Ilsa for your anniversary?”

It was Nick’s turn to roll his eyes and Strike was finally able to settle back on his seat in relaxed reflection, a rueful smirk to his off centred lips as he vaguely listened to Nick bemoaning the cost of Tiffany jewellery.

As if Robin would EVER buy him Doom Bar zero!.....although maybe he would at some point buy her something in one of the trademarked aqua blue boxes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely true love for Strike would be drinking Doom Bar Zero!


	5. I haven't had any in at least 3 weeks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men have needs....that they are currently not receiving from their ladies!!!!  
> Tongues firmly in cheeks folks please!

“I mean, I love Ilsa….but I have needs!” Nick pleaded, the other two men at the shared table nodding and offering sounds of empathy.

“I haven’t had any in at least…..three weeks,” Eric Wardle shrugged, “And April’s adamant about sticking to it.....it's fucking killing me!"

Strike nodded glumly, “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for you two. It’s bad enough not getting any in work hours. At least I can indulge myself in the evenings!”

Nick gave his friends a sneaky sideways glance, “I’ve had an idea…..but it’s gonna need secrecy from us all…..it’ll only work if we all agree to it.”  
Wardle and Strike hunched forwards and gave Nick their full attention and interested expressions.

“OK…...what if we all indulged now…..here, while we’re out. And then we never mention it?” he suggested licking his lips and stopping his left knee from bouncing in excitement.

Wardle’s eyes became twinkling, “What if they pick up on the smell?”

Strike silenced him with a raised palm, “No, we’ll drink more beer…...it’ll cover anything up, especially if we have a round of whiskies.”

“What if someone says something to one of them?” Wardle asked, his eyes flicking around the clientele of the pub.

Nick shook his head, “Come on? Nobody knows April, Ilsa or Robin…..that’s the reason we come in here….it’s the Lad’s pub.”

Strike nodded, “Yeah, come on Wardle…..what April doesn’t find out about won’t matter…..you know how desperate you are for some!”

Wardle gave a huffing sigh, “I fucking am…..just the thought of it is making me sweat.”

Nick bit his lower lip, “I will if you will…..come on…..just this once?”

“Well I’m going for it…..and you two are not allowed to sit drooling,” Strike finally stated, decisive and purposeful.   
He strode across and returned from the bar with a small piece of printed cardboard.  
Nick still looked slightly furtive, but Wardle gave an almighty growl as a female waitress walked passed laden with creamy topped sundae glasses.

“Fuck it! Go on then….but not a word to Ilsa or Robin…..I can’t risk April finding out she’ll fucking kill me!” Wardle stated, his eyes becoming shining brown pools as he regarded the A5 sized cardboard menu being held by Cormoran.

“Baked cookie dough?!” the largest of the trio erupted, “Isn’t that just a fucking cookie?!” he grumbled as he considered that as it came served with ice cream, chocolate sauce and was warm he might be able to get over the ridiculousness of it’s name.

Nick didn’t even bother looking at the menu card, “I’m having hot chocolate fudge cake…..with ice cream AND cream!”

Wardle gave a wistful hiss, “That does sound bloody good….I haven’t had sugar in so long though I might go into a diabetic coma!”

“How long is she gonna make you do this for then?” Strike asked as he tried to decide between treacle tart and custard or sticky toffee pudding.

The three ladies in their lives had decided to take on the Veganuary thing with a vengeance this year.   
April and Ilsa had taken it as an opportunity to turn to a fully plant based way of eating, but had also added cutting out gluten and refined sugars to the challenge, which Robin had picked up on and decided to follow in a bid to lose the few pounds she had ‘piled on’ over a very happy festive season (which had been spent at home; in London; and in Cornwall with Strike’s Aunt Joan and Uncle Ted for a couple of days.)

Strike had found the addition of almond milk to his tea relatively palatable - he only had the merest splash anyways - but when the biscuit availability started to suffer he’d struggled with the concept.  
He had wanted to support Robin - although he seriously preferred her with the ‘massive amount of weight’ she’d gained as a result of roast potatoes, gravy and tubs of Celebrations chocolates - so he had grudgingly attempted to fall in line with her new eating regime during work hours - he’d even tried to go veggie in the evenings too…..although the only possible way of making paneer curry filling enough was by accompanying it with a large naan, which was definitely NOT gluten free!  
But she'd looked so beautiful when she'd peered across at him sitting on the sofa as he tried to wade through some bat shit flavoured vegan flapjack (it really would have been more palatable to eat the wrapper!), and then she'd said, "You being so great about this is really helping me to stick to it. Thank you Corm'ran," and he could never resist her when she said his name in that languidly sexy way.

Nick had, as always, wanted to improve his and Ilsa’s life chances by eating more healthily, and was enjoying most of the menu choices; he’d even discovered a few recipes which he’d tried out himself; but in the last week he’d really been craving artificial sugary sweetness and had almost caved by adding a millionaire shortbread to his rather uninspiring lunchtime bowl of carrot and watercress soup.

Wardle had initially enjoyed the renewed range of foods and tastes that April had started bringing into mealtimes….but the discovery of seitan and tempeh had changed all of that.  
Firstly because he couldn’t understand how going gluten free could mean eating a product made entirely of gluten - apparently seitan was acceptable because it was “healthy and good for you and shut up!” and the tempeh…..it just looked like something that had been partially predigested!

Now he was hating eating - and his jaw and teeth actually ached from tackling mountains of nuts, seeds and other associated crap.  
He knew that he could technically abandon it all and have a Mars Bar in work hours….but it felt disloyal to April’s efforts…..plus Vanessa was doing it too thanks to Robin, and she’d definitely dob him in!   
Plus, they’d been allowed their once a week lad’s night drinking beer without it being questioned….so he didn’t want to push his luck!

Eric considered how this felt different - not disloyal per se, more like being part of a communal act of rebellion!

“She says we should keep it up until Valentine’s Day, and then we can go and have a proper binge, and in her words appreciate it all the more!” but he huffed out his cheeks and breath considering that if that was the case he had a further 3 weeks of dietary torment to deal with, meaning his fellow officers had 3 weeks of his foul moods to endure!

“Right, I’m ordering before we change our minds…..and NO CAVING in and telling!” Strike cast a wary gaze and pointed finger between the other two men at the table, “As far as any of them is concerned we just had the usual drinks, yeah?”

Nick and Wardle nodded and gave their orders….Nick actually appeared to be salivating at the prospect and forced the topic of conversation onto the plans he and Ilsa had for an impending trip to New York - Wardle and April had been several times and had always chosen more interesting than the standard tourist attractions, so Nick had been eager to find out more details.

Strike had returned to the table with a tall, metal rod bearing the number 8 a short while later.  
“Sorry that took so long, got caught behind someone trying to order a 12 inch tower of doughnuts!” he shook his head.

Nick gave him a perplexed glance, “Why should that take any longer than ordering anything else?”

“Well, because apparently they weren’t able to do a single 12 inch tower so they’d have to have 2, 6 inch ones, but they’d be charged the cheaper price of the 12 inch one!” took ages to make the customer understand that they were actually getting the same deal!  
There was a shared, amused chuckle around the table and all three men secretly made a Homer Simpson-esque internal sigh of “Hmmmmm; donuts!”

Wardle went and purchased a further round of drinks, and they spent time unwinding and discussing various aspects of each others’ lives - their festive season activities; when the bin collection would EVER get back to normal following the Christmas period; work and of course the usual amount of mocking Strike for his continued heart eyes whenever Robin’s name was mentioned.

“Look, I wish you’d pack it in. We had a really great time over Christmas and new year, and it was very comfortable between us and that’s how it’s gonna stay!” he stated, although the shrug of his shoulders pointed to a change in his own feelings towards his amber haired work colleague - it was noticed by Nick, but Wardle didn’t know him well enough to spot the change in his demeanour.  
Nick would have pressed further but there was a slight commotion at the table behind them as a tall tower of doughnuts appeared.

“Well I know I’m male, and according to Coco that makes my definition of what 6 inches looks like decidedly ropey, but that,” Wardle indicated the tall metal tower, “Is no way 6 inches!”

Their amused gazes looked across and Strike barely managed to contain his shoulder shaking laughter as the waiter valiantly explained that due to a lack of 6 inch spikes they had placed both sets on the single 12 inch tower.  
Nick’s own chuckles continued as he tried to quietly clarify, “So...hang on….they’ve basically got exactly what they originally wanted…..that was apparently not available hence the palaver at the till point?”

Strike was biting the back of his hand to try and quell his mirth as the two dark skinned men shared looks of disbelief across the doughnuts before taking one each and using them to ‘clink’ cheers.

“Bloody hell!” Strike sniffed, wiping tears from his eyes, “You couldn’t make it up!”

He used the opportunity to nip out for a cigarette and when he returned the waiter was just leaving their table having delivered their dessert choices.  
Nick inhaled the aroma of hot, fudgy chocolate sauce; Wardle turned the plate of his brownie around and admired it from all angles; Strike delved his spoon into his steaming, gooey sponge and shovelled a mammoth mouthful between his lips, panting and muttering “Christ that’s hot!” as he swirled the combination of sponge, sauce and creamy custard around his mouth.

All three men became absorbed in the joy of warm wheat flour, butter, sugar and dairy products combining in their mouths and several minutes passed with no words - not in silence; all three were making groaning noises reminiscent of a bad porn movie!

Obviously Strike finished first, Nick was a close second and Wardle eventually scraped the final dregs of cream and brownie from his plate, clattering the spoon down and issuing a replete moan of delight.  
“This could become a regular weekly addition to the booze and gossip!” he stated.

“Yeah, you can keep prosecco and cocktails; give me beer and hot cake!” Strike announced.

Nick stated his need to pee and left the table.  
Eric leaned over to Strike conspiratorially, “Are you gonna tell him that he’s got a dollop of chocolate sauce and ice cream on his shirt?”  
Strike grinned mischievously and worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth to dislodge a few pieces of sticky dates before he sniffed, “Nope….I’m gonna let Ilsa discover it later! Poor bastard!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 12 inch/6 inch doughnut thing actually DID happen - I am not making that up - me and Mr Hobbes in an American style diner chain in England......it was pitiful, but also hilarious.....although we laughed so hard and long that the chocolate dipping sauce went cold and solidified!!!


	6. Where's Oggy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to bring an end to these little vignettes, although I could probably write random male drabbles infinitely!  
> So this one mainly only involved two of the usual trio!  
> Even Strike managed to find something more important to him than beer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the wonderful Margot Leadbetter for "Don't bleed in the sink....I've just cleaned it!"

Nick glanced at his watch, wrinkling his lips as he drained his pint and wordlessly picked up the second being delivered by Eric Wardle.  
“You heard anything from ‘im?” he asked, sitting back down on the upholstered banquette set at their usual table in the pub.  
Nick shook his head and scrolled back through recent messages between him and his old friend.

“No! Not heard a thing…..last message I got was this morning, he’d finished up a case and seemed rather chipper!”

Wardle quirked his eyebrows at the term, “Chipper? You sure he was OK then?” and he smirked along with Nick.

“We’ll give him half an hour longer then I’ll give him a call,” Nick stated, and they resumed their conversation about the ridiculous reasoning their partners seemed to have over cleaning in their respective homes.

“I mean, I understand that it’s nice when something is all pristine and clean….I feel that way over my bike….but a toilet?!” Nick queried.

Wardle nodded sagely, “Tell me about it…..my bodily functions are as regular as clockwork, and to be told not to use it because “It hasn’t been clean long enough yet!” is a fucking nightmare!”

Nick chuckled, “Ilsa’s not quite that bad, but she did once tell me off for bleeding in the sink that she’d just cleaned!”

Wardle gave a nod of solidarity, “It does make it sound like we allow our spouses to do all of the housework….which is categorically untrue in the Wardle household!”

“Oh...never doubted it….same here. I’m hoovering as main duty...and of course bins.”

Wardle smiled, “Yeah, I’m bins….and anything loft related…..and cleaning the oven, but daily stuff I’m dishes and….don’t mock…..in fact don’t tell Strike at all….I do all the ironing chez Wardle!”  
Nick’s expression was not of the alarm Eric had expected - when he’d told his own brother he’d received a diatribe of ridiculous male stereotypes!

Nick however appeared completely non-plussed, “We sort of alternate cooking and dishes - whoever cooks the other does the dishes, or dishwasher loading etc. Ilsa does iron her own stuff, but….even worse, I’ve started using an ironing service for my shirts….fucking God send!”

Wardle’s eyebrows twitched at the idea, “Yeah? How so? Is it not a bit like….I don’t know….having a servant?”

Nick shook his head and took a further glug of his pint, “Nah….it’s great. I drop them off and pick them up after a shift all hung in a suit carrier….Ilsa’s thrilled - it’s given us back about 2 hours of quality, together time each week and it means she doesn't have to watch as in her opinion I iron wrong!”

“That’s actually quite a good idea - I mean, I quite enjoy the actual ironing…..starting with a messy heap and ending up with a nice row of hangers and a folded pile….but it would give me and April some much needed alone and together time!”

Both men contemplated silently, watching the small screen showing some random football match in the corner.  
Nick flicked his wrist and looked again at his watch, “He’s not usually this late without letting me know,” he stated.  
Strike’s work hours were unpredictable, but he was really very reliable at notifying his friends….he’d explained it to Ilsa before - nothing to do with his appreciation for them, just a desire not to be hassled by them!

“What if he’s working on something new? A case or something?” Wardle suggested.

Nick shrugged, “Not out of the question, but again, he’d usually let one of us know if he wasn’t gonna make it….he did a couple of weeks ago when that surveillance thing went on longer than planned!”

“I’ll ring,” Eric stated, and flipped out his phone, locating Strike’s details in his contacts list and pressing the keypad.  
After it switched to the message facility he shrugged and ended the call without leaving a message.

After a further round of pints, Nick decided to send a message to Strike….he’d already rung Ilsa and asked if she’d heard anything. She’d apparently tried calling Robin and her phone had flicked straight to answer facility.  
His message was the usual level of succinct informality : ‘No pressure but where are you Oggy? You gonna make it? We’re moving onto shorts. N’  
__________

They had sipped their way through a further round of lager and a whisky each and it was approaching 10.30pm when Nick's phone finally buzzed with a message notification.

Nick made a loud, rather unmasculine squeal and clutched at Wardle’s shoulder before flashing the screen around.  
Eric’s smile turned filthily smug as he nodded at the sight of Strike’s prosthesis propped up against the wall of his flat, with his own lone foot and 2 clearly feminine ones tipped with coral coloured toe nails visible poking out of the covers at the end of his bed.  
The message attached simply said, ‘Better offer! Call you tomorrow. C’

“Niiiice! Can’t blame ‘im, jammy bastard!” Wardle smirked again.

Nick was smiling too, but he was slightly less enthusiastic….he and Ilsa had cherished the desire for their old friend to get together with Robin - who seemed like the only woman on earth capable of being able to offer him the kind of loving and genuine relationship he deserved.  
He wondered who his friend had managed to coax into his bed this time…..probably some luscious supermodel who fancied the Strike ‘rough masculinity’ treatment!

_______

At the same time that Nick’s phone sprang to life Ilsa was receiving a response to her earlier voicemail sent to Robin. Hers too was in the form of a message.

She screamed out loud, swore several times and clambered up onto the seat of the sofa, dancing from foot to foot as she saw the two dishevelled, familiar faces on her screen.  
One, amber haired and smiling openly, the other dark and chaotically curled giving a rueful, off centred grin against the pillows she knew belonged to his bed.   
Their shoulders were bare and Robin’s cheeks had that give away ‘Just fucked flush’ to them.

Robin’s message stated : ‘Sorry I missed your call but you know how time consuming this guy can be! I’ll ring you tomorrow sometime and give you ALL the details.   
R xx (& C!!!!x)

Ilsa closed the message and rang her husband.

I: Have you seen?

N : What that Oggy’s tapped off with someone and stood us up?

I: Well yes. But….have you seen who the someone is?

N: No….all I got was feet...hang on, I’ll share it with you.

Nick fiddled with his phone and then held it against his ear.

I: Oh….cryptic! Well, fortunately mine fills in the blanks! Hang on….

She heard the moment that the message was seen by her husband as a shriek of “Wardle! Look!”

N : Bloody marvellous! And about fucking time! Right….I think Eric and I shall use that as an excuse for a further round of whiskies, then I’ll be on my way home….yeah, I’ll put out the recycling when I get back!

The duo in the pub regarded each other’s joyful expressions.

“That’s fucking good news. Them two,” Wardle clarified.

Nick nodded, “Yeah!” and he tried to remove the ridiculous smile on his face at the knowledge that his oldest friend had broken down the final barrier that had been preventing him from moving towards Robin romantically.  
He wondered how it had happened?  
Had Oggy done what Nick had suggested a few days earlier when they’d talked about it while Nick was on a break in work on his late shift?   
He didn’t truly care - all that mattered was that the most obvious and meant to be relationship seemed to have finally got passed the starting line.

“Right! Whiskies are definitely called for!” Wardle stood and waved his hand for Nick to remain seated despite it technically being his round.

_______

Back in Strike’s bijoux flat, the air was heavy with the scent of sex…..and a slight undercurrent of Robin’s floral perfume, which was completely filling Cormoran’s senses as he investigated the glorious, naked woman beside him’s pliant neck.

“Right! I’ve done what you asked me to do and told ‘em, 'an I even did the selfie thing!….now, can I get my reward for being a good boy?” he asked, flashing a mischievous grin as he squirmed down passed the crook of her arm, his lips teasing every piece of skin available to them enroute to the smooth swathe of slightly salty skin below her breasts.

“If you’re intending doing that thing you suggested earlier I think it might be considered more of MY reward than yours….but please continue!” and she squealed contentedly as the dark, ruffled head disappeared beneath the bed cover with a wolfish snarl.

He was ‘missing out’ on a night at the pub, but fuck it…..some things were more important than beer….although as he nestled between and licked his way across Robin’s parted thighs, he registered that possibly this was one of only a few things that qualified!


End file.
